


Against Reason

by mourningstarlight



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bonding Over Shared Trauma, Brief Ableist slurs, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gay Billy Hargrove, Horrible parenting skills demonstrated throughout this fic, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Protective Billy Hargrove, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mourningstarlight/pseuds/mourningstarlight
Summary: Steve struggles with school.Somehow, for some reason or another, Billy Hargrove makes it his personal mission to help.Steve can’t tell if he hates—or loves—the guy more.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	1. Expectations

Steve Harrington hates his dad. 

It’s not that he doesn’t love him—doesn’t appreciate all the hard work he puts into his company and into providing for his wife and son. He’s a diligent man and once possessed a warmth that Steve misses. He can admit he was happier as a child. Excited to see his more present father, to feel his arms wrap around him and twirl him in the air, his deep baritone pitched higher with laughter.

Then Steve started failing his classes. 

He struggled with the words. He told his mom a million times, her eyes pitying but still uninterested as she’d shoo him back to his room with whispers of just staying after school with his teachers. He’d tried telling his dad. Steve had been surprised when his father had practically darted across his study and told him exactly what he thought of his little ‘problem’.

The words still run through his mind sometimes, something twisted furling in his gut and stealing his breath away. 

Steve gets older. 

He became more diligent in getting passing grades, knowing that if he failed one more class his dad would call the house, scream at him until he had tears dripping down his chin and onto the linoleum tile in the kitchen. 

He gets into track, plays basketball with Tommy. He’s good at it—wins a couple competitions. The medals he gets earn him a thump on his back from his father. It’s the most affection he’s gotten since elementary school from his parents. 

And isn’t _ that _something? 

He starts dating. 

He enjoys the girls he starts seeing. Enjoys being with them and—eventually, being able to fuck them.

His favorite part of being with a girl is being held. How they wrap their arms around his neck, their perfume sweet as they card their fingers through his hair and kiss his cheek. He’s so content in these moments, feels so loved that something feels like it’s about to burst in his chest every time he’s hugged like that. 

Somehow, he finds himself playing surrogate big brother for five snotty-nosed brats.

It’s after the whole ‘worst breakup of his life’ shit that Nancy Wheeler thrusts at him by calling their whole relationship _bullshit_. 

It’s not like he forced her to stay with him for a whole fucking year. But that’s whatever. 

He’ll be fine.

He’s always gonna have to be fine—because he's always been expected to be. He can't be anything else. He can’t. So… he knows he'll be okay. 

It’s also after Billy Hargrove moves into town. 

And damn does Steve hate him. He doesn’t mean to—when he first saw Billy pull up in his Camaro, music blaring and cigarette dangling from his lips, Steve had thought… _ finally_, someone who isn’t into all this petty high school shit. Because Billy hadn’t seemed like the type. 

He just seemed too cool to be into the stupid drama that Hawkins high seemed to exude. 

But, of course, Steve had been dead wrong. 

The first time they’d been at practice, Billy acted like a royal asshole. Taunted Steve, made him feel stupid in the same way he had felt in his father’s study all those years ago. He wants to fight. Wants to make the other boy know that he isn’t some pushover hick from a small town who thinks he’s hot shit. 

Because there’s so much more to life than that. There’s actually a whole other _ dimension _ that exists from their own, filled to the brim with monsters that would tear men like Billy and his dad limb-from-limb. 

Steve fails. 

He fails at practice when Billy pushes him back onto the floor, stepping over him and leaving him blinking up at the ceiling. 

He fails at convincing him to back off at the Byers' house. He actually gets the shit kicked out of him for trying to keep him off of Lucas—sees the wild glint in his eye that fades into a hollow look that’s more daunting than the cursing, raging mess he was only minutes ago. 

Billy Hargrove’s watery eyes are the last thing he remembers before he passes out.

And then he wakes up and is forced into another shitty upside-down nightmare with a bunch of young teens he often finds himself babysitting. With a black eye that he can barely see out of. 

_ Great_. 

It’s winter break now. He sits at his desk, going over the assigned reading his English teacher gave him when he hears a knock coming from downstairs. He can his father down the hall, telling him to ‘get the door, son’ before he’s quickly dashing down the stairs. 

The atmosphere is stifling when it’s just him and his dad—an odd sort of tension that Steve avidly dances around with bated breath. He doesn’t want to set his dad off. Maybe, he wonders as he walks towards the front door, his dad will finally just snap one day and disown him altogether.

He snorts to himself as he reaches the door, swinging it open and squinting when the cutting winds immediately hit him. 

He’s surprised when he sees Billy Hargrove on his front porch. 

He glances over his shoulder, listening for footsteps before he’s stepping out into the snow, in nothing but sweats, his old track sweatshirt and a pair of house slippers.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Steve demands, crossing his arms.

Billy takes a drag from his cigarette, looking oddly amused. His gaze flicks over Steve, takes in his appearance with a smugness that has Steve clenching his jaw and glaring even more. 

“Came over to apologize, pretty boy,” Billy huffs after his assessment, turning his gaze to stare at the woods just beyond the house. He looks put out as he takes another drag of his cigarette, huffing, “Max wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it until I told her I would, so…” He shrugs, “Here I am or whatever.” 

“So?” Steve prompts, raising a brow expectantly.

He’s not surprised Max has been hounding Billy—the kid is one of the most stubborn people he’s ever met. It makes sense that she fits in with the party. They’re all stubborn and judgmental and if Steve didn’t give a shit, he’d probably call them colossal nerds who need a fucking reality check once in a while by getting their asses kicked. 

But, for some reason or another, he does care. 

_Weird_. 

Billy glances at Steve, eyes narrowed. “So what?” 

“So apologize,” Steve says, tilting his head. 

“I just fucking did.” Billy scoffs, blowing smoke out and into Steve’s face, “That’s the only time I’m ever gonna say it too. So, fucking accept the apology or don’t—not like I give a shit.” 

Steve bristles at that. 

It’s nine AM on a Saturday morning. He has hot coffee waiting for him inside, right next to the shitty scrambled eggs he made. 

“God, Hargrove,” He huffs, hands digging into his hips, “What’s the point of apologizing if you don’t mean it? You literally beat me up. I needed fucking stitches—right above my eyebrow.” He points at his face, voice pitching as he cries, “You gave me a fucking scar, asshole! That’s permanent. I’m gonna have this ugly line on my forehead for the rest of my life.” 

Billy takes a step closer, expression morphing with rage. He nearly gets in Steve’s face before the front door is swinging open, forcing Billy to step back and place his hands at his sides. 

Steve freezes, turning his head to look despite knowing what he’ll see. 

His father is standing there, dressed in a cashmere sweater and khakis. His gaze flickers between the two, displeasure written all over his face. “Stéphane,” He calls to his son, “What are you doing? Why are you shouting?” 

Steve glances at Billy. He notices the way his jaw is locked, how his eyes are glued to his dad with the same sort of look he’s seen in his own bathroom mirror a hundred times by now. 

“We were just talking, Dad,” He placates, voice soft, “He’s a friend from school.” 

He doesn’t even flinch when his father reaches out and yanks at the fabric on his shirt, forcing him closer to the door. He takes a step forward, keeps his head bowed ever as his fingers tighten into fists and he bites his bottom lip hard enough to almost break the skin. 

“Tell your friend to leave,” His father says, calm in a way that Steve knows a lecture is on its way, “You need to study. You can’t afford to fall behind in any of your classes.” And if that doesn’t already sting, he tacks on a biting, “I expect you to do better—no son of mine should get by in school by acting like a retard.” 

“Sure, Dad.” He says and wants to cry when his father retreats and the door slams shut in his face.

He stands there, just breathing for a moment before he’s turning his head. Billy is looking at him, eyes wide. 

The cigarette is still dangling from his lips. 

It falls when Steve grabs the lapels of his coat, pushes him into the house and gets up in his face, lips curled and eyes wild. “You say anything at school or tell anyone about what you just saw,” He hisses, heart pounding and the blood racing in his veins, “and I’ll tell Chief Hopper who beat my face in. You won’t be able to lawyer up fast enough if you breathe a word of that shit to anyone, Hargrove. You hear me?” 

He gets no response. 

He shakes the other boy, watches the way he licks at his bottom lip with a bitter smile. 

“I said—did you fucking hear me?” He says, feeling like he’s gonna shake apart the longer he’s out here, standing in the snow with his slowly numbing feet and a lump in his throat that feels like it’s suffocating him. 

Billy looks at him for a second, blue eyes shifting as they flicker between his own. He’s deliberate with his words, knows exactly how to catch Steve off-guard as he whispers, “Your old man seems to act a lot like mine does, Harrington.” His chuckle is quiet, muted as he glances away. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” 

“He’s not…” Steve speaks, panicked before he’s moving away, leaning against the wall next to Billy. “He’s not that bad. He hardly sees me—it’s only when he’s around that he’s on my case like that.”

“Must save it all up for when he visits then.” Billy shrugs, digging into his coat for his pack and withdrawing a cigarette. He lights up, takes a drag before he’s offering it to Steve. “He beat you too?”

Steve inhales, shakes his head. “Not really—not this year anyway.”

“Year’s not over yet,” Billy says, smirks, “Let’s see if he can keep up the good fucking behavior.”

He doesn’t mean to—he really doesn’t—but Steve laughs at that, shaking his head. 

“_Jesus_, dude.” 

“What can I say?” Billy looks his way, looking more real than he’s ever seemed in school or on the court. “Gotta have a sense of humor about this shit. How else are you supposed to get through it if you can’t fucking laugh about it?” 

Steve makes a move to answer but he hears his dad calling his name through the door, sounding gruff and more terrifying than he’s heard in a while. He’s lurching upright before he can think, moving towards the door. 

His hand is on the doorknob before he realizes there’s something he forgot to say. He glances back at Billy. 

“I accept.”

Billy blinks, brow furrowing. “What are you on about, princess?” His smile turns lecherous as he adds on, “'Cause you sound like you're selling me your soul or something—”

Steve shushes him, feeling heat creep along his neck.

“That's not what I meant!” He waves his hand, glancing at the front door before he turns to meet blue eyes. “I accept your apology. I… it was a weird situation. I get why you did what you did.” 

“Are you ever gonna tell me why you had my fucking step-sister and those little freaks in the Byers' house that night?” Billy grumbles, looking put-out. 

Steve glances at his feet, shrugging.

That’s enough of an answer for Billy. 

He scoffs as he moves away from the house, descending the steps with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“See you around, Harrington.” He calls over his shoulder before he’s sliding into his Camaro and driving away, leaving Steve on his front porch in the freezing cold.

He takes a deep breath, feels the burn in his lungs before he’s slipping inside. He barely has two seconds before his dad is there, laying into him about how disrespectful he acted and how he should want more for himself when it comes to school and the supposedly ‘white trash’ friends he has. 

Steve doesn’t care. 

Merely nods his head like the good son he’s expected to be. 

He ignores it when his dad slaps his chest just a little too hard to be friendly before he’s stalking back to his office upstairs, slamming the door. He takes a moment to collect himself—wipes at his eyes angrily because crying is weak —and makes his way upstairs, avoiding the steps that creak and breathing a sigh of relief _ only _ when he can hear his lock click into place. 

His dad leaves the day after. 

It’s shitty that the first thing he feels is relief when he sees the taxi pull away from the curb. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a vent piece one night and then somehow developed into a story??? Don't know how that happened but I'm definitely not complaining lmao
> 
> Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this, I really appreciate it!!  
If you wanna follow me on twitter or just dm me, hit up @mournstarlight  
Comments and kudos are definitely appreciated, feel free to leave a little something if you fancy!  
Anyways, have a good one! Thank you again for taking some time to read this


	2. Olive Branch

For the rest of the week, Steve spends his time carting the kids around town. 

He doesn’t mind. 

It’s something to do besides stay at home and struggle with finishing his homework. The days go by in a blur and before Steve knows it, it’s the last Saturday before winter break is over and his house somehow becomes the focal point for a sleepover.

The kids show up in the late afternoon. Instead of the usual quiet that permeates the house, it’s filled with conversation and laughter. Steve makes spaghetti for the kids, using the frozen marinara his mom made the last time she visited. 

After dinner, they all make their way into the living room. 

The boys spend a solid hour playing monopoly, screaming and ranting throughout. Will goes bankrupt first and sits down on the opposite side of the couch from where Steve is, content to watch television while they wait for the last member of their party. 

The two settle on watching Jeopardy, their attention divided between the TV and the arguments the other kids keep getting into. 

“It’s not my fault you suck at this game.” Lucas huffs, glaring at Dustin as he makes yet another complaint. 

Dustin squawks and waves his arms around, voice pitching higher as he surges into another tangent. “I don’t suck at this game. I like having multiple houses on the property I own. That’s a good investment.” 

“Yeah,” Mike says, pointing at the pathetic pile of paper money laying in front of Dustin, “That would be a good investment if you had the money to do that. Which you don’t. Which is why you keep going almost bankrupt.”

A series of harsh knocks has Steve rising to his feet, grateful for the interruption. 

He makes his way to the door, swinging it open to reveal two figures illuminated by the porch light. 

Steve moves out of the way as Max barrels forward, tugging off her shoes and dropping them unceremoniously on the floor. She’s muttering to herself as she marches into the living room, dropping down beside Lucas with a huff. She buries her head into his shoulder and Steve watches as the kid wavers with his arm in the air before settling it along her shoulder blades and rubbing soothingly over her jacket. 

The boys clear up the game and start setting up their map for their D&D session, chatting quietly amongst themselves. They keep shooting Max glances but all of them know to keep their mouths shut—there’s a reason why she’s called ‘Mad Max’ and they know better than to push. 

Steve hears a throat being cleared behind him. He’d nearly forgotten he was holding the door open, despite the chill blowing across his bared skin. 

He turned his head, eyebrows raised in silent question. 

Billy’s face looks pinched, mouth twisted in a grimace. His posture is lax as he leans against the threshold, blood trailing down from his nose and a bruise blooming high on his cheek. 

“Rough night?” Steve murmurs, crossing his arms and leaning against the other side of the doorway. 

They’re close to one another like this, only a foot of space between them. Steve can practically smell the cologne and cigarette smoke that clings to the other boy. 

Silence stretches between them. 

Steve flounders, biting his bottom lip. “So—”

“You wanna study?” Billy cuts in. 

He lifts the messenger bag at his side before letting it drop back down with a sigh. “My old man wants me to stay with Max. He doesn’t trust her going somewhere alone after the shit you guys pulled.” 

He shrugs, turning his gaze away.

Billy drops the cigarette butt, grinding it into the snow with the heel of his boot. He glances up with a curl of his lips, deceivingly lighthearted as he asks, “Gonna let me in, Harrington? Or are you just gonna let me freeze to death out here?” 

“Jesus,” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Don’t guilt-trip me into letting you into my house, dude. I babysit a bunch of kids—I’m immune to all that shit.” 

Billy keeps staring, his foot tapping against the icy doormat. 

Steve sighs, stepping inside. “Get in here. Leave your shoes by the door, dickhead.” 

He leaves Billy at the front entrance, making his way into the living room.

He stops when he notices it’s quiet, five pairs of wide eyes trained on him. Steve steels himself when Max lifts her head, nostrils flaring as she stares right at him with a fire in her eyes that reminds him exactly of her older brother. 

“Why is _ he _ here?” Max asks.

“Yeah, Steve,” Dustin cuts in, gesturing wildly with wild eyes, “I’m not sure if you noticed but he beat your face in a few weeks ago. How can you let that guy into your house?” 

Steve goes to answer but halfway through opening his mouth, he thinks better of it. 

He has no answer. 

He just knows that he can't stop thinking about earlier this week, their conversation, he just feels this weird compulsion to reach out his hand—offer some sort of truce. 

“It’s just for a little while, Dustin. He’s not gonna act up while he’s here.” He says. 

Billy stops beside him, quiet now without the thud of his boots cutting through the air. 

Steve turns his head, frowning as he realizes he has a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes trail over the kids, the discarded pizza boxes and then dart over to Steve himself. 

His mouth is twisted into a grimace as he murmurs, “It smells gross as fuck in here.” 

Steve almost laughs. “That’s just how middle schoolers smell, dude.” 

“Hey!” A chorus of voices cry out at the same time. 

Steve shrugs at them before he sighs, nodding his head towards the other side of the room. 

“Let’s go work in the kitchen.” He murmurs to Billy before he treks through the living room, rounding around the couch and making his way towards the dining room. “We’ll be able to get some sort of quiet in there.” 

“I’m hungry,” Mike complains when he’s almost out of the room. 

Steve stops, sending the kid a glare. “I fed you fat fucks an hour ago.” 

“I’m still full,” Will says, glancing around as the other kids huff and groan. 

“I’m not!” Dustin butts in.

Billy snorts under his breath. He licks at his bottom lip, smirking around his cigarette as he mutters under his breath, “Of course you’d still be hungry, lard ass.” 

Steve turns his glare to the boy next to him, teeth grit. 

“Don’t talk to him like that.”

“Or what?” Billy counters. 

The kids are quiet as the two teens stare at each other, a silent competition to see who will look away. 

A rush of surprise sweeps through the room when Billy looks away first with a roll of his eyes. 

They watch as he turns his head, puffing smoke through his nose before he’s brushing past Steve and into the kitchen without so much as a glance at anyone else. 

Steve turns back to the kids with a tight smile. 

“I’m making cookies and popcorn, that’s it.” He sighs, relenting. “However, if you want something else, you have to get it yourself. I’m your babysitter, **not** your maid.”

He leaves the kids to do their thing as he turns on his heel, following after Billy into the dining room. 

He ignores him as he makes his way into the kitchen, tossing prepackaged cookies onto the tray and shoving them into the barely hot oven. He glances at the package, remembering his mom had bought them the last time she was at the house. 

He makes sure to check the date, breathing a sigh of relief when he realizes they haven’t expired yet. 

Steve makes his way back into the dining room, pausing when he notices Billy is already watching him. 

A smile spread across his lips, eyes blazing. There’s a thin smear of blood near his nose which he keeps wiping at with the cuff of his jean jacket. It’s soaked with red. 

“You’re fucking whipped, Harrington,” He says, taking one last drag from his cigarette before he’s crushing it on an antique butter dish in the middle of the table. “Those kids made you bitch—just like that Wheeler chick. It’s kinda pathetic, don’t you think?” 

“You act like I care what you think.” Steve counters. 

He shrugs as he settles in a chair across from Billy, his homework already laid out from that morning. He picks up his pencil, twirling it between his fingers. He doesn’t look up when Billy snorts out a laugh—the noise on the borderline of something mean. 

“I forgot,” Billy says, “You’re too cool for all this petty high school shit, huh?” 

“It’s stupid, man.” Steve agrees. 

Billy leans back in his chair, slinging his arm over the backing of another. He glances about the room, rubbing at his nose again before he’s saying, “Apparently it’s not the only thing that’s stupid around here.” 

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s snapped his pencil until the sound cuts through the room. 

He blinks as he lets the other half fall from his hand, staring unblinkingly down at the tabletop. He curls his hand into a fist. It takes him a moment to find his breath—to not just lurch across the table and shut Hargrove up for fucking _once _—before he lifts his gaze, eyes hard. 

“I should have just let you freeze in the snow.” He says as he collects the pencil, getting up to toss the pieces away in the kitchen. 

With a whole room between them, Steve allows himself to lean against the counter and drops his head into the crook of his elbow. He feels stupid for letting Hargrove into his house. 

He should’ve known better than to try and trust the kid who beat his face in with his secrets.

Sighing, he stands up when the timer goes off for the oven. 

He winds up tossing a popcorn bag into the microwave after he pulled the pan out, letting the cookies cool for a few minutes. He dumps the popcorn in a bowl and the cooled cookies on a plate. 

He stops at the fridge, contemplating. 

He knows he’s not a great person. His junior year was spent in the undertow of teenage angst—devoid of nothing but partying and popularity. But now… he sighs, reaching into the freezer and grabbing an ice pack. He takes the time to wet one of the kitchen rags, clearing up his hands to wring the cloth out and to finally make his way out of the kitchen. 

Billy looks up at him when he stops next to the table. Steve doesn’t stop glaring even as he hands Billy the wrapped-up ice pack.

Silence settles between them as Billy keeps staring up at him, lips parted with surprise. 

“What is this?” Billy asks, brows furrowed. 

“You’ve been dripping blood all over my mom’s suede carpet,” Steve says, eyes narrowing at the look of disbelief that flickers across Billy’s face, “So take it or leave it, dickhead. Doesn’t matter to me. Just keep that shit off the floor.” 

He doesn’t look at Hargrove when he turns on his heel and walks out of the dining room, keeping his head held high. 

Steve loosens up when he walks into the living room, handing off the bowl to Dustin and the plate to Will. The kid smiles at him as he takes one, biting into it before passing it to his right. 

When Steve makes a move to leave, he’s surprised when he feels a tug to his sleeve. He turns his head to find Max looking up at him, her mouth twisted into a frown. 

“What’s up?” He asks as he crouches down closer to her level, immediately concerned. 

Out of all the kids, Max is the one who barely comes to him with her problems. She’s overly self-sufficient—she’s capable of finding solutions to problems that he even struggles with. 

“Is he…” She starts, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Is he bothering you?” 

Steve blinks, taking a moment to think before he shakes his head. “Nah, he’s good.” 

“He’s definitely_ not _good.” Max snorts, rolling her eyes. 

“Yeah, that's—” Steve smothers the urge to laugh. “That’s fair, kid. He’s not bothering me much; so, I’m okay for now.”

Max nods. “Let me know if he starts acting up.” 

Steve raises his brow. 

“What happens if he does start acting up?” He asks, already suspecting the answer.

She smiles at him, shrugging her shoulders with nonchalance.

“You still keep that bat in the trunk of your car, right?”

Shaking his head, Steve rises to his feet. 

“Remind me to never get on your bad side.” He murmurs as he moves back towards the dining room. Her answering laughter makes him smile, shaking his head as he passes under the archway. 

Steve glances over at Billy as he moves to the table, noticing he has the rag pressed to his nose. The cloth is littered with red stains. He doesn’t look up as Steve gets situated, grabbing the book he’s been struggling with and pulling it closer to him. He tucks his knees underneath him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear as he tries to focus once more.

The only sounds that pass between them are the ticking of the clock and the kids laughing and arguing in the other room. 

It’s twenty minutes later, after Steve has released his fifth sigh, that Billy sets down his pencil with an annoyed grunt.

“What the fuck are you sighing over? You sound like a little bitch.” Billy huffs. 

Steve scoffs, setting down his pencil. He eases back into his chair, crossing his arms. 

“I….” He pauses, worrying his bottom between his teeth. He glances down at his essay before his eyes drift over to Billy, resting his chin against his perched hand on the table. 

“I don’t get the assignment for Ms. Mitchell’s class.” He admits, shrugging his shoulders. 

“The sonnets essay thing?” 

Steve nods. “I chose one but I just—it’s nice but I don’t understand it.” 

“Give it here.”

Steve blinks when a hand is lifted, hovering halfway across the table. 

“What?” He blinks, sliding the opened book just a little closer to himself, wary.

Billy scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Give me the fucking book, Harrington.”

Hesitantly, he slides the book across the table. Billy snatches it up and glances over the paper. The clock ticks out a full minute before blue eyes flicker upwards, mouth pinched. 

“How do you not get this?” Billy huffs. 

Steve sits up straighter, narrowing his eyes. “The words. They always get... mixed up or something. I don’t know man—just give me the stupid book back.”

Billy tilts his head, eyes drifting down towards the book resting on the table.

“Want me to read it to you?”

Steve’s brain short circuits. 

“What?” 

“I’m not gonna repeat myself, Harrington.” Billy glares, twirling a pencil in his left hand. 

Steve watches, following the way it spins and drifts between his fingers. 

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime offer.” Hargrove hums, twirling his pencil between his fingers with relentless precision. “Take it or leave it, amigo. Final offer.” 

It takes him a second to understand that Billy isn’t joking. His usual smile isn’t in place. He looks oddly relaxed, shoulders lax and his eyes guarded but unwavering. 

“Go ahead,” Steve says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. 

Billy rolls his eyes before he’s perching his arms on the table, leaning forward. 

He squints at the page for a moment, glancing between the text and Steve before he opens his mouth and _reads_. His voice is soft and rapturous as he recites the sonnet, pausing and ebbing the flow to match the words written. 

Steve watches, eyes wide. He’s never heard someone read Shakespeare the way Billy does. He knows exactly how to work the poem to his advantage and before he knows it, Billy is looking up at his with a pensive frown. 

“Does the way I read it make sense?” 

It takes a moment for Steve to nod, unsure on what he can say. 

“Could you read it one more time?” Steve asks. 

Billy makes a face. “Why the fuck should I?” 

Steve sighs.

“Nevermind, man.” He mumbles, reaching for his textbook. “Sorry to bother you with this.”

“Stop with the mopey ‘I’m sorry I’m not good at reading, boo hoo’ shit you’re pulling, Harrington.” Billy rolls his eyes, cutting him off before Steve can try to defend himself, “I’ll do something better. I’ll read it and then help you decipher what it means. Sound good?”

Steve pauses. He narrows his eyes, eyeing Hargrove for a moment. “What do you get out of it?” 

“You shutting the fuck up.” Billy snaps. 

Which… seems fair. Steve _was _being a little bit loud. 

Steve shrugs his shoulders, picking up his pencil and flipping to a new page. “Alright,” He sighs, nodding his head toward the book. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Thirty minutes later, Steve has a full page of notes and a complete understanding of the sonnet he chose. 

Billy had read the poem—twice even—and then broke apart the lines, deciphering them to make it sound more informal. 

Steve is practically vibrating in his seat. “Holy shit, man,” He laughs, shaking his head as he looks up from his paper. “Thanks. I’ve been worrying about this thing all winter break.”

Billy scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Stop thanking me or I’ll have to kick your ass again.”

“You can’t joke about that when you_ just _apologized for that a few days ago.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “That’s like… one of the most uncool things you can do.” 

The look Billy gives him makes his roll his eyes, turning back to his work with a huff. It doesn’t take long before Billy is shifting across the table. 

Steve glances up in time to watch as Hargrove gathers his stuff, slipping it back into his bag. 

“Heading off?” He offers, biting his thumbnail. 

Billy nods. 

“Gotta,” He gruffs, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Max has got an earlier curfew than me. She needs to get home before it gets too late.” 

Steve follows after Billy into the living room. It’s easy to see the kids have finished their game. All of them are sprawled out of the couch—except for Max and Lucas. She’s perched on his lap on the recliner, laughing quietly. Their hands are laced together as they watch the TV, innocently sharing affection. 

The moment Billy sees them, his expression darkens. He’s stalking forward, hands balled at his side. Steve barely has a moment to slide in front of him, hand pressing against his chest. 

His touch is enough to make Billy snap his head towards him, teeth bared.

“Max,” Steve turns his head to the side, glancing at the redhead. He ignores the glare boring holes into the side of his head, feet planted. “It’s time to leave. You should go put your shoes on.” 

Max turns her head, eyes widening. She’s quick to clamber to her feet, separating herself from Sinclair and scurrying towards the hallway that leads towards the front door.

“Hargrove,” Steve warns, wary when Billy still won’t move. His glare is still focused on Lucas across the room, fists clenched at his side. “You should probably get going. Wouldn’t want to miss her curfew or something like that, man.”

Billy takes a breath, glancing at Steve. He sends one last parting glare at Lucas before he’s shouldering past Steve and moving down the hallway towards the front door. 

“See you around, Harrington.” He parrots his parting words from the other day, slipping out the front door. Max is still slipping on her shoes, a grimace on her face. 

Steve walks closer, helping her to shrug on her coat. Her eyes are downcast. The porch light casts the glossy sheen of her eyes, unshed tears swimming in her unfocused eyes. 

“Max…” Steve murmurs. 

She sniffles and shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I gotta go. Sorry for all the trouble. I didn’t know he would make you let him in like that.”

“No problem.” He says because he means it. He wants the kids to be able to see each other, even if there are some people out there who don’t seem as approving as him. 

Steve nods towards the Camaro, leaning against the doorway next to where Max continues to linger, wringing her hands. “Don’t let him push you around. It’s your life you’re living. He shouldn’t be allowed to say what he wants you to do. Especially when it comes to the people you love.” 

Max sniffles again. A smile makes its way across her face, easing away the hurt that had painted her features a few seconds ago. 

“You always know what to say, Steve,” Max says before she leans forward, hugging him. 

Steve awkwardly pats her back, smiling to himself. 

A honk from the Camaro makes Max groan, glaring over her shoulder. 

“Come on, shitbird,” Billy calls from his open car window, puffing on another cigarette. “We ain’t got all night.” 

“I know, asshole!” Max yells back. 

She turns to Steve with one last smile before she’s turning on her heel, marching back towards her brother’s car. She waves at him—which he returns—before she slips inside. 

Billy sends him one last glare before he’s peeling off down his driveway and then down the street. A rock song blares through his speakers until it too fades away. The only thing left are the tire tracks that are slowly fading away with the freshly fallen snow, eliminating all signs of the two. 

Steve sighs, shutting the door behind himself.

He makes his way into the living room. Lucas sits there with the rest of the boys, arms crossed and jaw clenched. 

Steve sighs. “You okay?” 

“I don’t know why you let him in the house,” Lucas huffs. 

Dustin nods his head as he glances over at his friend, pouting his lips at the older boy. “You know he never apologized, right?” He asks Steve, before gesturing towards the party. “He never said sorry to any of us but especially to Lucas. He’s such a scumbag, dude, and you just let him in! Totally uncool non-party behavior right there!”

Steve sighs. “I know, I just… wanted Max to be able to stay. I know she doesn’t get to spend time with you guys like she used to.” 

It’s a lie. One that he knows he’ll have to own up to eventually. When he had seen the blood and bruises, it had hit a little too close to home. So, he let the guy in. Sue him. 

Glancing at Lucas once more, Steve deflated. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I didn’t think about it. I won’t let him in like that again.”

Lucas frowns, considering before he nods his head. “It’s all cool. Thanks for apologizing. Just… be careful with that guy. He’s unpredictable.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh, collapsing in between Will and Mike. Mike grumbles under his breath but shifts to the side to give Steve more room.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. “Dude broke a dinner plate over my head. That’s something I’m not about to forget for a _ long _ time.” 

It takes a while for the movie to end. 

Will ends up falling asleep halfway through. 

After the movie, the kids set up their sleeping bags and get ready for bed. Steve turns off almost all the lights except for a light down the hall and the TV, not wanting to leave them in total darkness. 

“Night, guys.” He calls over his shoulder as he ascends the stairs. 

He gets ready to sleep and before long, he’s finally laying in bed with the covers pulled up to his bare chest. He curls up on his side, sighing into his pillow. His last thought is of how he could possibly get Hargrove to apologize before he’s drifting off to sleep, worries forgotten for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, Steve chose Sonnet 18 (because he's basic but we love him anyway)
> 
> Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this, I really appreciate it!!  
If you wanna follow me on twitter or just dm me, hit up @mournstarlight  
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Anyways, have a good one! Thank you again for taking some time to read this


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